Lover Mine
by willam
Summary: A series of Ficlets on Derek and Spencer's relationship.  M/R
1. Hair

**Hair**

So the POV is alternating, but I'm pretty sure you can tell who is who. If there's another aspect (or body part) you'd like to hear about let me know in the comments. (Also just realizing how short the other ones are compared to this one…)

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><p>You wish he would stop growing his hair just to chop it off. You wish he would just settle on something, short or long, but each time you get used to his hair one way he changes it. You like it this way, long and curling softly to his shoulders. Not that you don't like it short mind you, it's much more entertaining in the morning. When he wakes up with short hair it stands up on end every which way as though in the night his hairs all stood up together and then tried to go off in all different directions and he looks deliciously rumpled. He forgets too when it's short. He reaches up periodically to brush away locks that no longer exist and you find this heart crushingly adorable.<p>

But long, long is definalty your favorite. It falls to his shoulders in a chestnut cascade that always seems to catch the light just right, and it gives him a softness that reminds you of the pictures you've seen of him as a teenager. When he reads he pins it out of his face with three fingers pressed against his ear. You love to watch it swing forward to hide his face when he is brain storming, or studying a map or some hand writing. You love how it clings to his forehead when you make love to him. You love watching the morning light on it when he is still asleep next to you and it is spread across your pillow, looking molten and alive.

But, long or short you love the smell, the way it feels between your fingers when he does that _thing_ with his tongue, but most importantly you love it because it belongs to him.


	2. Ink

**Ink**

Sometimes, at night, you like to run your fingers over the lines etched permanently into his skin. You like to feel the eternalness of them, to feel the way the ink pushes his skin up in a little ridge to meet your finger. You wonder what it would be like to be his tattoo, to be wrapped around his body every moment of everyday.

You think about your tattoo, his initials etched over your heart in invisible ink. You often wonder if he can feel it when he touches you. You think about getting something obvious, stark black, to show him and the rest of the world who you belong to.

You wonder if that would be too permanent.


	3. Gun

**Gun**

He lets you take his gun off him. You chide him every time, try and drill into his head that no one but him should be touching his gun but he just smiles that heart melting smile and tells you that he trusts you. More than anything. You try not to think too hard about the fact that instead of the standard issue Glock he carries the same kind of gun he stared down during his torture. You try not to think about what that might say about his state of mind.

Especially when sometimes, late at night when you two are alone, he trembles in pleasure underneath you while you run it up and down his flanks.


	4. Hand

**Hand**

You like to sit next to him during briefings in the morning because sometimes, when he feels particularly romantic, he'll hold your hand. It's not that he doesn't ever hold your hand at home, or on the few occasions he can convince you to go out (you're still cripplingly shy, though the time with him has finally convinced you that you are at least desirable) it's just that it's so much better. He slides the back of his hand gently up the outside of your thigh until you lower your hand to entwine into his. Your joined hands rest on your knee, below the table, where you can look down and see your connection to this man. You feel a little spark at the sneakiness of it, this tiny secret you have from your friends.

You're pretty sure that everyone can tell anyway, because your smile always sticks around for the whole day.


	5. Colour

**Colour**

You wonder if he actually can't see the different colours of your skin. That woman on the street had frightened him, screaming that white boys shouldn't be taking the few good black men that are left. He hid behind you and mumbled some sort of apology, but in few minutes the whole experience was forgotten and he was laughing with you again. When you ask him about it later he shrugs you off, and says he's not with you because of your skin colour, or what other people think for that matter, but because he loves you.  
>You think about how refreshing it is to meet someone who might actually be colour-blind.<p> 


End file.
